


Doctor Who: The Alternate Histories

by OhStarsandGarters



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Original Character(s), Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 07:33:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3520754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhStarsandGarters/pseuds/OhStarsandGarters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Human beings struggle to fit in, to be considered "part of the gang," but, they were made to be individuals.  There is no such thing as an ordinary human being.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mr. Jones Observes

**Author's Note:**

> This is ALTERNATE HISTORY, ALTERNATE WORLD, ALTERNATE REALITY.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When my dad was deployed overseas, my grandfather and I would watch Doctor Who. I had been 6 or so when I first started watching, but Papa and I made a certain amount of time a day specifically dedicated to watching Doctor Who. He had about six of the 3rd and 4th Doctor's adventures on tape (don't ask... I don't know... these tapes have since disappeared...) and we would watch them and re-watch them. My grandfather has always been such an inspiration to me.   
> When my father got back, Papa and I stopped watching Doctor Who, but the stories stayed with me. About five years ago, I found Doctor Who again. It made me so very happy.  
> Anyway, I had a dream several years ago about the Doctor. I started writing a fanfiction and then abandoned it. I found it this morning and decided to start writing at again.  
> Happy reading!

"Good morning, Mr. Jones."

The woman from reception was likable and had not been in the position long. Mr. Jones appreciated that she had already proven herself a vital employee. It was so hard to find good help these days.  
Mr. Jones regretted that he did not know much about her. It was a shame, but he knew so little about anyone who worked at this company.

Did Mr. Jones mind?

No. He certainly did not.

Work and play do not mix.

He was not even sure who he worked for.

Mr. Jones was in his mid-forties and greying with a receding hairline. He had four beautiful children and a pretty wife.

"Looks like it will be a nice day," Mr. Jones remarked, accepting the newspaper and coffee he was being offered by the receptionist. Glancing at the paper, Mr. Jones noted that there was a football game tomorrow night. He would have to take his son to it, he had promised after all.

The receptionist looked through her wide glasses, across her desk, past Mr. Jones, across the highly-polished floor, and through the tall window. She lowered her eyes to her computer screen then back up to Mr. Jones, smiling, "I actually think it might storm later, don't you think?"

The woman's plain, pleasant face lit up when she smiled, making it impossible not to smile back and agree with what she said.

Mr. Jones did exactly that.

The receptionist asked him if he would like to look at his daily appointments, he said that he would like a look at them. Glancing at the sheet as he took it from her hands, Mr. Jones groaned. He had two appointments. He sighed, resigning himself to filling his day with organizing files.

The files were in such a mess that the employees had been spending the last few weeks trying to organize them as well as they could. That seemed to be the only thing of use they did here.

The receptionist gave him an apologetic look. "The day will be over before you know it," she reassured him, straightening her glasses. The glasses almost took up half of her face, making her grey eyes seem larger than life.

"Say," Mr. Jones exclaimed, struck by a thought. "Have you seen Venkmin? I have the DVD he lent me, but I have not seen him in a few days."

Not looking up from her computer screen, the receptionist responded, "No. He quit last week."

Mr. Jones deflated, "Oh." He cleared his throat, "Perhaps you have his home address? I can send it through the post, I assume."

"He moved," came the answer.

Mr. Jones was taken aback, "He never said anything about moving."

The receptionist sighed, adjusting her glasses and looking up at Mr. Jones, "It is strange, yes, but these things happen, yes?"

Behind the receptionist's desk, one of the lifts opened to expel one of the bosses. He hardly looked at his two employees as he rushed by them and out the door.

Leaning toward the receptionist, Mr. Jones lowered his voice, "The wife and I have been talking about these disappearances." He searched the receptionist's eyes for any kind of reaction. He thought she, of all the people who worked here, would be the one to understand his suspicions, "They are strange, aren't they?"

The woman at the desk blinked at him.

Mr. Jones frowned, staring off into space, "First it was Molly." Mr. Jones waved his hand absentmindedly at the receptionist, "It was before your time." He continued, "Then, Charles. Then, Ben. Then, Bonnie." Shaking his head, Mr. Jones finished, "Now, Venkmin."

"Curious," the receptionist commented.

"It is, isn't it?" Mr. Jones acknowledged. He shook his head again, "Really, this all started when the company changed hands." Tapping the desk with his knuckles twice, Mr. Jones' frown deepened and he walked to the lift. He did not notice how thick the air around him had become. It was as if something invisible was taking up all the available space.

The receptionist said nothing as she watched Mr. Jones walk to the lift. She continued watching him until he entered and then went back to her computer screen. A strand of reddish-brown hair fell from the bun at the back of her head. She replaced the misbehaving hairs absentmindedly, wiggling her nose and sniffing.

"Curious," she said to herself.


	2. Don't Ask

"Put your clothes back on," Donna exclaimed loudly, disgust and horror in her voice.

A hurt expression crossed the Doctor's features, "What?"  Putting his hands on his hips, the Doctor said indignantly: "It is a swimsuit, Donna!" 

It was, in fact, a swimsuit.  It was brightly-colored with reds and blues and whites all mixed together in a galaxy pattern.  However, the swimshorts were barely an inch past the middle of the Doctor's thighs and he was not wearing a shirt.  He was too skinny, poor thing, Donna noted before averting her eyes.

The Doctor huffed, "It is not like I am -"

"Naked," Donna finished for him.  "You look naked," she stated.

The TARDIS console beeped. 

Donna took the out from this awkward situation the TARDIS gave her and went to go check out whatever the TARDIS was trying to tell them.

She could not leave fast enough.

"I am not naked," the Doctor scowled at the mirror in front of him.

"Good," Donna shouted down at him.  She reached the console and looked around for the source of the beeping, "I do not ever, ever, ever want to see you naked."  She said this last bit quietly enough that the Doctor had to strain to hear her, but loudly enough that he knew she was not just talking to herself. 

The TARDIS console beeped again.

Donna just located the source when the TARDIS gave a great jolt, knocking both the Doctor and Donna off their feet.  Before they could react or even right themselves, the TARDIS jolted again.  A wrench slid past the Doctor's feet and hit the far wall.

"Donna!" The Doctor cried out, "Hold on!"

"Really?" Came Donna's sarcastic tones as the TARDIS jolted again.  The Doctor pictured the look of condescension and irritation on Donna's face as she shouted the next sentence at him, " _Is that what you are supposed to do_?"

The TARDIS jumped again.

"What's going on?" Donna shouted at the Doctor.

The Doctor struggled to his feet and was knocked down again.  On his hands and knees, the Doctor slowly crawled up the stairs and managed to get to the console. Using the console to pull himself into an upright position, the Doctor righted himself as another jolt tore through the TARDIS.

Checking the console for flashing lights and dials, the Doctor's face changed from concern to excitement.  He beamed in Donna's general direction, the Doctor answered Donna's question, "Someone has invented time travel!"

* * *

The receptionist watched as the employees slowly made their way out of the lift and out the front door.  She smiled at as many of them that looked at her, addressing them each by name. 

They were all so tired. 

Drained.

Depressed, even.

The receptionist straightened her glasses and typed something into her computer.

A cough.

Looking up, the receptionist recognized one of the managers as the one who demanded her attention.  She smiled at him, "Hello."

Unlike everyone else today, this man did not return her friendly gesture.  He stood stiffly, "Mr. Jones will be staying late tonight.  You can go home."

"Um," the receptionist's professional manner slipped.  "I am supposed to wait for everyone to leave the building before I leave, yes?"

"Usually," came the answer.  "Pack your things and lock up," he glared at her.  "Now," he added for good measure.

Under the strict gaze of the manager, the receptionist logged out of the computer.  She made sure everything was well-organized for tomorrow's shift.  Picking up her purse, the receptionist cast a concerned glance towards the lift before averting her eyes.

The manager followed her to the front door and watched her carefully as she locked it.  He bid her to have a good night and watched her suspiciously as she walked away.  When the receptionist rounded the corner, the manager turned on his heel and walked toward the nearest Underground station.

* * *

Donna stared at the Doctor blankly as she rose to her feet, "Someone invented time travel?"

The Doctor nodded energetically.

"We," Donna quickly and repeatedly gestured at the Doctor and then at herself, "Are in a time machine."

"Yes," the Doctor agreed, still smiling at her.

Donna spread her arms and leaned forward expectantly.

The Doctor took a moment, "OH!"  He pushed a knob and the jolting stopped, "Someone, in a time and place that has not yet discovered the secrets of time, has invented it."  Pushing another knob and pulling a lever, the Doctor continued, "Let us pay them a visit, shall we?"

 

 


	3. Hallway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What are you doing here after-hours, my dear?"

The receptionist did not waste a moment.

As soon as the manager was out of sight, she made her way back to her workplace and stepped into the alley.  The sky was dark and the street poorly-lighted.  She vanished from view as the darkness enveloped her.  The distant sounds of traffic were eerily distorted.  A short, chubby man in a long coat walked past her without seeing her. 

For a brief moment, the receptionist wondered if she should call the police.

Her hands on the side of the building, the receptionist searched for the door she knew was there.

Something that sounded suspiciously like a big dog walked by her.  She turned her head.  Seeing nothing, she resumed her search.

Finding the door, the receptionist pulled out a key ring.  Searching for the right key, the receptionist looked around cautiously.  It would not do to be caught now.  They were probably already watching her with blazing eyes.  She shuddered.

The key fit easily into the lock. 

The receptionist allowed herself a small smile.  She had almost let herself believe that the key would not work. 

That was silly, was it not?

She turned the key.

 _It did not budge_.

The sound of a big dog walking on wet pavement met the receptionist's ears.  She spun around, expecting to come face-to-face with a stray.  Dogs, she could deal with. 

But, she saw nothing.  Just darkness.

The receptionist could feel her own pulse - it pounded in her ears.

It was so silent.

The sound of feet came again.  It scurried past her.  She spun around, trying to locate it.

A low growl came from the darkness.

The receptionist chastised herself for coming.  She hardly knew the man.  Mr. Jones could very well take care of himself, could he not?

A fog started to rise from the ground.  With it was a musty smell like that of old shoes.

Straightening her glasses, the receptionist turned back to the door, rattling the handle.  The key fell out of the lock and hit the pavement with a loud clang.

Instead of picking it up, the receptionist raised her hands to the bun at the back of her head.  Pulling out a bobby pin, a small chunk of hair fell into her eyes.  Pushing the offending hair out of her line of vision, the receptionist used the bobby pin to unlock the door.  To her surprise, the pin worked.

The door seemed to open of its own accord.

The receptionist stepped inside and quickly closed the door behind her. 

Something growled on the other side.

"Shush," the receptionist said to the door.

Whatever it was growled again and the sound of feet pattering away met the receptionist's ears.

Finding herself in a long, dark hallway, the receptionist observed that this hallway has not been here a few days ago.  The same musty smell of old shoes filled the hallway.  Wrinkling her nose in distaste, the receptionist made her way slowly down the hallway. 

The silence was heavy and the hallway long.

The receptionist's steps were slow, but sure.

Soon, her brain began compensating for the silence by convincing her that she was hearing things.  The receptionist was clever enough to know that these sounds were from her past.  First, it was the sound of a lawn mower in the distance.  The sound faded away to waves crashing on a rocky beach.  The receptionist could almost smell the salty air.  Then, crickets singing on a warm summer's night.  A lover's whisper.

That was the one sound she truly wanted to hear.  But, that voice was gone, now.

There was the sound of a bottle being opened.  The squeak of a syringe being forced through the plastic protectant on the bottle.

The receptionist stopped walking and winced.  Painful memories flooded her mind and, then, vanished completely.  She closed her eyes and took a deep, shaking breath.  When she exhaled, she opened her eyes and found herself a few feet from the door at the end of the hallway.  She stepped forward and put her hand on the knob.

The sound of a person pacing back and forth came from the other side of the door.

Unsure as to the owner if these feet, the receptionist hesitated.

Gathering her courage, the receptionist took a deep breath and opened the door, the light from the room flooding the dark hallway.

* * *

Mr. Jones had not expected to see the receptionist.  He started, dropping the file that was in his hands.  When he recognized her, he smiled, "Hello."  He bent down to pick up the file, "What are you doing here after-hours, my dear?"

The receptionist responded immediately, straightening her glasses and speaking with authority, "Mr. Dunn, the manager, said you could go home, now."

"Did he really," Mr. Jones muttered to himself, his tone unbelieving.  He looked at her, narrowing his eyes and stroking the file with his right hand.


End file.
